Metropolitanly Monged.


The sudden rush of air as I stood on the escalator yesterday, combined with the strong smell of weed, turned the exit of Camden Town tube into a massive bong.

You don’t expect using public transport to lead to an impromptu forced drug-ingestion, but apparently in NW1, that’s the way it goes. It calls to mind when Shredded Wheat used to have a factory next to Welwyn Garden City Railway Station; passing through at speed would result in the distinct odour of Ian Botham’s favourite breakfast cereal clouding the air. It was akin to balancing a thin line of crushed wheat on the side of your index finger and snorting it like snuff.

(…the things you do when you’re a student.)

I wasn’t particularly happy about the sudden hit of the dreaded herb. Being stoned is the last thing you want when you’re about to do a show, either in the smoking or the rock-based punishment sense; both add an extra, stressful layer to proceedings; I have enough of an internal monologue going on when I’m mid-performance, without adding the need to listen to mid-Sixties’ Dylan too, or the work of that other pot-addled Bob figure, Bob Marley.

Being forced to passively-smoke marijuana on your way out of Camden Town station is one thing, but it could have been worse: I could have been on London’s longest Underground escalator at Angel tube. If so, I would have left my clothes in a pile by the door and danced away to the tune of Tide of the Season by The Zombies (which is a very niche Simpsons reference.

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